


get out, get goin'

by theseourbodies



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Firefly Setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-25 04:27:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14370900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theseourbodies/pseuds/theseourbodies
Summary: SGA/Firefly fusion oneshotThey are a captain and her lieutenant (and thieves and smugglers, when they are not just an honest captain and her first woman,) and they are in great need of a new pilot for their vessel, the Firefly-classAtlantis.They've been told by several well-meaning people in the nearby town that there is a man who is high in piloting talent that can be found at this saloon. The captain appreciates skill, but it's the fact that he is also low on funds at the moment that really what makes him an attractive prospect to theAtlantis'representatives.





	get out, get goin'

**Author's Note:**

> i love writing in this fandom, it's good for my soul. Please enjoy the fruits of a long conversation with palace-in-progress, my perpetual partner in these crimes
> 
>  
> 
> trying out a newer style than usual, let me know what you think. sorry if the language is anachronistic, pretend like they're swearing in new chinese for me

Two women approach an isolated saloon on a poorly terraformed planet. The land is more sand and cactus than habitable earth, and the saloon is perched too near the sandy edge of a canyon. It's unclear if it was placed there, or if the cliff is simply crumbling away towards it.

The women are dressed in dusty travelers' gear, well worn but also well cared for. They are watchful in the way of fighters-- and criminals. Where one looks, the other is casually watching the other direction. They are familiar with one another, if not with the territory. The first woman, stepping just slightly in the lead, has a strong, angled face and a sharp nose. Her eyes are lighter, shaded by a heavy, stiff-brimmed felt hat. Sooty, soft lashes make every blink look coy, but her eyes are as sharp as the rest of her. Her hair is a mess of fawn brown curls that spill from under her hat. It just brushes the shoulders of her sensible, tan canvas jacket. 

The second woman walks just to the left and a half step behind the other woman. She is softer-seeming at first glance than her companion, but like the first woman her sharp eyes belie the faux vulnerability of her wide soft mouth and fine features. Her skin is smooth and naturally brown- -not leathery and yellowish like a well-burned white man's. She wears her coppery hair braided, coiled, and pinned into a crown around her head. Nothing covers it, but there is a woven cotton scarf wrapped around her neck and shoulders. These are her only concessions to the heat and the sun. Unlike her companion, she is poorly dressed for the hot desert sun. Her brown leather duster hangs almost to the tops of her knee-high, battered leather boots. Both women are armed, though only a quarter of their weaponry is visible: a blaster each, carried in plain view; boot and belt knives; and, curiously, a pair of light-wood sticks strapped to the second woman's strong hip and thigh, visible only in glimpses when her open coat flutters in the breeze. 

They are a captain and her lieutenant (and thieves and smugglers, when they are not just an honest captain and her first woman,) one Elizabeth Weir and Teyla Emmagan, and they are in great need of a new pilot for their vessel, the Firefly-class Atlantis. They've been told by several well-meaning people in the nearby town that there is a man who is high in piloting talent that can be found at this saloon. The captain appreciates skill, but it's the fact that he is also low on funds at the moment that really what makes him an attractive prospect to _Atlantis'_ representatives. 

Normally, both women would be more cautious about following the directions of the people of a planet like this one. They are strangers in a hard land, and that can sometimes make them acceptable loses or easy pickings if they're not careful. But the people of this town on this planet mark the calendar the same way that Teyla does; Elizabeth had noticed how the folks they had talked with would look at Teyla's brown leather duster with firey eyes and sad smiles, and it had been a fine motivator to take them at their word. It had taken a while, but years taking care of her own in an inhospitable expanse had taught her to trust her gut. 

This pilot answers to Sheppard, they've been told, and they will apparently be able to find him by saying his name in this particular saloon. The fact that they've been sent to a bar to collect him isn't promising; it was hard enough to get Teyla to agree that they needed to find a new pilot in the first place. Teyla maintains that there is nothing wrong with all of the crew sharing piloting duties, but Elizabeth cannot do what needs to be done without someone with experience, especially not when Atlantis has a belly full of carefully concealed contraband. She trusts Teyla's judgement, but she was honest about the feeling of creeping desperation that's haunted her for the two days they've been grounded while completing repairs. She needs this pilot, and she needs him to be as good as the people in town say he is. 

As they approach the saloon, the door slams open, and both women's hands snap to weapons. A tall, pale man stumbles violently out of the building like he's been shoved. All Elizabeth notices in the seconds after he appears are long limbs and black hair pretty much everywhere, especially his head. All of this is plainly obvious, as the man is almost naked with the exception of something that might have been a sheet wrapped around his waist. 

Seemingly unconcerned about his state of undress, the man turns back to the building. "Listen, buddy, I'm no man to break up a good thing," the man drawls into the dark, gaping doorway. Elizabeth has to admit that she admires his boldness, but then she catches a glimpse of the mountain of a person stalking out after the be-sheeted man. Ah, she thinks, unable to look away, an idiot. A brave idiot, but still an idiot. Elizabeth remembers the descriptions they were given and sighs. Unfortunately, she thinks that this might be exactly the man they've come to find. 

"She's all I got, Sheppard, you piece of cat shit! Of all the women--" The huge man confirms her suspicions, and Elizabeth looks skyward, resigned to the exceptionally diplomatic, silent "I told you so," she can practically feel being directed at the back of her head. She had so hoped that Sheppard would make himself an easy sell to her fastidious lieutenant. 

"Hey!" the man, Sheppard, interrupts indignantly. "Hey now, it takes," he steps back and stumbles over the sheet at his feet. He's drunk with booze or something else-- the finger he points at the huge man wavers as he sways. "It takes two to tangle, ya know, I didn't exactly trip her on to my--!" 

Elizabeth shoots a look at Teyla, who raises her eyebrows at her. "Whether we hire him or not, I believe it will be necessary to intervene, Elizabeth," she says dryly, and Elizabeth sighs again and steps up. 

"Gentlemen! Listen up!" 

Diffusing the situation takes more money than charm. Even then the man refuses to back down until Teyla very casually unholsters her blaster and taps it gently against her thigh where he can see it. Unlike Sheppard, the man makes the smart move. For all his size and strength, he's outnumbered and knows it; he takes the money and the offer of a free drink from the two women who mean serious business. 

After it's handled, Sheppard looks at them, still swaying slightly. " 'ppreciate that," he mutters, rearranging his sheet with little dignity or success. "She spilled a drink all down me and next thing I know I'm naked in the backroom." 

"You're Sheppard, then?" Elizabeth asks instead of responding. She knows from the smile she can feel curling the edges of her mouth that she's likely to laugh if she tries to engage with him about his....predicament. She likes him, God help her. 

Sheppard looks at her with light eyes, suddenly sharp and wary. "Depends who wants to know." He straightens as much as he can in his sheet wrap. 

"Just someone as needs a pilot like the one people keep telling me you are," Elizabeth says easily, staying cheerful and light. "Someone who can pay you for the trouble. Though now I've seen you in action, I can't say I'm impressed." 

He stiffens—and isn't that interesting; for all his nudity and the drink Elizabeth can smell from where she's standing some feet away, Sheppard's still got pride to hurt. "Listen lady--" 

"Captain." Teyla interrupts, deceptively calm, from behind Elizabeth. When she looks back, Teyla's eyes are watchful, her body held carefully still. "This is Captain Weir and I am her second, Teyla Emmagan." 

Sheppard blinks at them; to Elizabeth's relief, his spine relaxes. "Captain, then," he mutters, but with no condescension. "What I do ground-bound's got nothin' to do with the way I can fly. All the stories you've heard, they're probably true." He manages sincerity in what should be gross boasting, and says, "the good and the bad." His small, close-mouthed smile lacks humor. 

Elizabeth cocks her head. "So what's a hot-shot like you doing in a dive bar like this," she asks softly, stepping in closer. She knows what today is to Teyla-- half the reason her friend is so tense and watchful is because that's how she always is on this particular day of the year. Elizabeth watches John flick his eyes towards Teyla, and then tenses as she watches his mouth twist down. 

"Haven't you heard," he says, with curious, flat bitterness, "It's victory day for the Alliance. Thought I was owed some time off." 

"It is," Teyla answers, before Elizabeth can. "You do not look to be celebrating, however." 

Sheppard doesn't answer, but for the first time all of his attention shifts to Teyla. Out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth sees Teyla's chin hike up, defiant. 

"Listen, captain" Sheppard says suddenly, breaking the tension, "you give me two thrusters and a rudder, and I can fly 'em. I've been on this damn rock for three days too many, and you can see I've outstayed my welcome." He spreads the one arm that isn't clutching his sheet out. "Take me or leave me." 

Elizabeth thinks about it, considers the misery on his face and the stories that she's heard. "We'll see how you do," she says at length. "A month-long trial. If you can fly straight and survive our mechanic, I might lift your probation." Sheppard slumps a little, and she can see it's with relief. She holds up a forestalling hand before he can say anything. "But we're not a luxury cruise service and we're not likely to benefit from any of this." She waves a hand, generally encompassing the sheet, the saloon, and Sheppard himself. She steps in close and keeps her voice hard, steady, and low. "You pull something like this while you're on my crew, I'll make sure the planet I dump you on makes this one look like the prettiest piece of rock in the system. Got it?" She puts her hand out between them, a contract that more binding than anything she'll be able to set to paper in her book. 

Sheppard looks paler when he meets her eyes, but his face his set and his eyes are clear. He grips her hand with one that's remarkably steady. They shake on it, and his voice doesn't tremble when he says "You got a deal... Captain."

**Author's Note:**

> hit me up on tumblr [here](http://princessandaguylikeme.tumblr.com/) or [here!](https://theseourbodies.tumblr.com/)


End file.
